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Once again, we headed out with no rain and after pottering about in Inverness for a while, we pretty quickly crossed a long bridge over to the Black Isle. After doing a couple of circuits at a roundabout, where we were confused to keep coming across the same people, we were pointed in the right direction and continued on through Munlochy. Once again it was exhilarating to head along straight roads, up gentle hills, and with beautiful views all around; I pounded the pedals, enjoying my new level of fitness and powering ahead with a great sense of freedom and joy at being alone in the great outdoors. Calum was some way ahead of me, and we eventually paused at a junction to wait for  the others to catch up; Calum pointed out where his mum lived, off in the distance on the other side of the Beauly Firth. We then cycled on to the north, down a long hill before we turned sharp right to head east along the Cromarty Firth coast towards Cromarty. We hit our 1,000 miles along this stretch and stopped for an impromptu photo shoot. 

In Cromarty we stopped to buy lunch in a bakery and sat by the sea watching the “Cromarty Queen” ferry heading backwards and forwards to Nigg. After eating and drinking, we queued for the ferry and headed across, cycling through Arabella and on to Tain. 

Bert and I stopped to do a shop here, before we went over a big long straight bridge over the Dornoch Firth and continued on to Dornoch, a quaint little village that sold delicious ice cream and where we were also able to do a BCQ!

By the time we got close to Rogart Station the wind was strong and against us, and I struggled to keep going, sheltering behind Bert and Rob, who took it in turns to lead our little group of three. We eventually pulled in at Rogart Station where we met Andy Summers again. We all chose little rooms in our allotted carriage, and Bert and I set to cooking up a meal in very basic conditions! We did however, manage to make a tribute dessert for the team – a rocky mountain road concoction with LEJOG spelled out in dried apricots! After eating, we braved the midges to dash to the local pub, but were sorry to discover it had closed early, so we returned to bolt ourselves in to our carriage with all the windows closed, despite the warm evening. I soon went to bed, and Bert was later bemused to hear Alan being profusely apologetic after getting the doors confused in the narrow passageway and almost attempting to jump into my bed.

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It was definitely a holiday atmosphere as we prepared to leave our train carriage at the station and head off after a leisurely breakfast in the hot sunshine towards Loch Brora. After battling the wind, rain and grey skies through Cornwall, Devon, and indeed, all of England, here we were in the north of Scotland, donning our sun tops and shortest shorts, basking in the warmth and enjoying the most beautiful countryside that can only be found in this part of the UK. 

We eventually left after 10am, and once again I enjoyed shooting along in the sunshine, taking in the views and soaking in the peace. 

Before reaching the loch we stopped to chat to a local farmer, the boys caught up, and we then had a relaxing ride alongside the loch. 

Now it was my turn to drop back, and Bert and I got really behind the rest of the group as we got carried away with the holiday atmosphere – posing by the loch for photo sessions, and stopping to watch some really clever sheepdogs gathering in the sheep. 

We caught the boys up after dropping down in to Brora, and shared a long lazy lunch in the café. We then joined the A9 and rode north along the North Sea coastline with, once again, amazing scenery. After such a leisurely day, I was once again full of energy, and after ambling gently along for a while, I decided it was time to catch up with those at the front, so put on my Pink Lightning super-powers and forged ahead to casually sail past Bert, Calum and Trevor, smiling and waving as I did so. Thus I was the first to arrive in Helmsdale, where we discovered a wonderful hostel with a large communal area and a very welcoming warden. 

As we arrived fairly early, we had plenty of time to wander around Helmsdale and sample a variety of pubs. Following a confusing arrival of a group of scouts and guides, we ended up sharing a dormitory alongside the man and boy LEJOG combo.

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Woke up to blue skies as far as the eye can see. Maybe it was because it was our final day, or maybe it was because of the large chapel windows that had no curtains, but we were all up way before the planned time and were on the road much earlier than had been scheduled. Arthur was pleased to get out the sunglasses that he had carried for more than 1,000 miles and needed for the first time today! After a photo shoot to mark our final morning, we started the day with a big climb out of Helmsdale. Having heard horror stories for most of the route from Cornwall, I must admit that I was a little nervous about falling at the final hurdle, but my nerves were unfounded as I sailed up the hill, enjoying the fine views across the sea. 

Berriedale was the next hill, more renowned than Helmsdale, but I was heading up it before I even realised, after having ridden past a couple of the guys who were sensibly stripping off layers in anticipation of the hard uphill climb. As it dawned on me that here I was, climbing up the last (and hardest) hill of the trip, I realised that behind me there was a large lorry, revving as it sat on my tail. 

At the steepest bend of all, where I would under normal circumstances have stopped, I knew I had only one option – to pull out in to the middle of the road in order to keep going and avoid the steepest part of the bend. Twenty days ago I would never have dreamt my confidence would grow to this point, where I knew that the lorry patiently sitting behind me was going at my speed, and that I could keep going against all the odds. After the bend, I pulled in to a lay-by to allow the lorry to pass, but didn’t stop cycling so I could keep my momentum going. I got to the top without a single dismount, and without even the slightest pause in the rotation of my pedals. What a triumph! Ballet dancer Calum looked a little surprised as he eventually came to a stop and turned around to wait for everyone else to catch up, to find me close behind him! I stopped to admire the views and enjoy the sunshine, whilst feeling generally smug with myself! 

The road continued on along gentle ups and downs, snaking around the coastline as we headed north. The wind was fairly forceful in places, and actually became quite scary as we descended a hill to go over a bridge at Bridgend; here the wind was batting me sideways, and as my bike picked up speed I had to use all my energy to hold it upright. By the time I reached the bridge, my heart was in my mouth and it was a full-on battle between me and the wind as I struggled to hold my bike on a straight course and avoid letting the wind carry me over the edge to the gully below. 

We stopped at a lovely café where we had snacks and cakes, before heading on to the A99 and eventually turned left to go directly north. The long straight road was a pleasant ride, and we stopped for a long break at the Grey Cairns of Camster, enjoying the sunshine and eating all the cakes we’d bought earlier. 

Setting off again, we continued along the road, heading up and down hills through the fields, meandering along country lanes. The rain started, but as we were nearly at our final destination I just put on my waterproof jacket but not the trousers. The rain started and stopped a couple of times, and it had stopped when we cycled over the brow of a hill to be greeted by an amazing view of the Orkney Islands sitting in the North Sea, with sunshine all around. It began again as we approached the A99, which would take us the last few hundred metres to John O Groats. 

Trevor, Alan and Rob headed straight to John O Groats as the advance party, to warn those who’d travelled miles to meet us that we were on our way. Arthur, Calum, Bert and I hung back, shivering as the rain bounced off the road and large puddles and rivulets formed before our eyes! The rain was going down my neck, my cycling shorts were soaked through, my gloves were twice the weight with all the water they were now carrying, and we all smiled as we realised this was the most apt way to end the trip – the same way we’d started. Our final week had been a weather anomaly, and now we were reminded of the majority of our travels through England and Wales – full wet all the way. 

And now we were full wet once again as we headed the final few metres to our final destination, pedalling slowly through the water, fingers going pink with the cold. We pulled in to the car park and made our way over to the famous LEJOG landmark, looking for faces of loved ones… who were all sheltering from the pelting rain! People eventually appeared – Anne, Hannah and Sandy, Calum’s mum, and Andy Summers who’d driven the final part to greet us at the end and cheer us in! The incredibly heavy downpour stopped as suddenly as it had started, and we were able to pose for our celebratory photo under the grey cloudy sky, elated at our achievement. 

After a steaming mug of coffee in the café and a quick hello to the Dutch couple who had also just arrived, we packed the bicycles onto car roofs before travelling by road to Wick, where we were to spend our final evening. 

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After being awarded rosettes at the B&B, we went on to have a fun night in the Wick Wetherspoons on our final evening – spirits were high, the Olympic opening ceremony was on the flat screen tv, and we were amused to be able to compare stripy sun tans where our fingerless gloves had lived for the last three weeks. It was a bittersweet time, having grown so close through the trials and mud trails of the UK, sharing the hills, the rivers, the sharp descents, the full wet, and the long, long hours of being in the saddle. Yet here we were at the end; sharing a beer and a meal for the last time. All I wanted to do was turn around and do the return journey… on my bike. With my new cycling buddies. 

Instead, David and I set off the next morning by coach to Inverness, whizzing past towns, villages, and cliff views that we had sauntered through by pedal not much earlier. As we watched roads we had cycled along, we could almost feel the stones, bumps, potholes; sense the smells; remember the views that lay in wait just around the corner; and oh we so wanted to be back there – in the middle of the view rather than looking down on it through a coach window. At Inverness we joined Calum again, to share a train journey to Glasgow, and again, whilst re-living the memories, we caught glimpses of tracks we’d cycled along, hills we’d conquered, and views we’d lived and breathed, and I realised once again how blessed I am to be living in such a beautiful land in such privileged circumstances. 

We had our final night without the trustworthy, gentle Calum; but having met with Mrs Valentine and enjoying some bubbles with the lovely couple, we had said our goodbyes and were able to enjoy an excessively hot evening of curry and laughs with the Moodys and Alan, before tumbling into our guest bedroom at the Moody household. 

The following day, the boys pointed me in the right direction one last time, and we took a train to Manchester, cycled to Woodley, had more bubbles with the parents, and then got a lift down to Bristol in their car, leaving our bikes to be collected later. Whilst travelling, I pondered our journey… contrary to popular opinion, as we had travelled further north through the UK, the sun got brighter, the rain diminished, the hills got ever easier and the scenery got distinctively more thrilling and beautiful with every mile. 

Of course, we had good intentions to retrieve the bikes as soon as possible so we could maintain our fitness levels and enjoy wholesome and hearty days out in the country, as well as our plans of cycling to work each day. Our good intentions remain good intentions, but the memory lives on and we still dream of the day when we rely on our bicycles more than our cars. I guess the challenge of cycling to work isn’t half as exciting as the challenge of cycling the length of the UK. 

So. Who’s up for Africa?... 

Mt Everest – 29,000 ft.